Philharmonic
by Doublebend
Summary: Hetalia Gakuen AU. Denmark is starting to feel like his friendship with Norway is slipping. Taking Finland's advice, he starts keeping his distance - at the same time America suggests a paintball match to decide this year's School Festival attraction, casting the whole school into mayhem. Multiple pairings, crack.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is crack. Or as close to crack as I can get. Be warned.

The Hetalia Gakuen Universe is something I've been wanting to write about for a while, ever since graduating high school. Do you know that feeling? Of leaving something behind that felt like the young wild days, and beautifying it in your mind, even though rationally you know that it wasn't as exciting as you think it was? Sparkly school life manga and shows have got it all wrong, people, and this fic isn't any better.

Multiple pairings will be hinted at, made, explicitly pointed to and then broken apart, that sort of thing. Den/Nor isn't even my main ship, but I find it cute nonetheless, and it's basically what sparked this idea in my mind. So we'll start off with that!

See notes at the end of chapter for more details.

* * *

"NOOORWAAA–"

The cry pierced through the cool, peaceful air, cutting off the morning birdsongs and making heads turn on the street. Students wearing the Gakuen uniform looked around in a moment of blind panic, before catching sight of the billowing dust crowd advancing towards them and throwing themselves out of the way, just in time. Iceland sighed, stepping away from his brother, trusting him to deal with it.

Norway raised an eyebrow at him. "Ice..."

He waved his hand dismissively. "I'll just leave you to it."

Norway, like a certain Swedish neighbour of theirs, was a mostly expressionless boy. But even the random passer-by could tell his irritation from the twitching left eye and the curling of his fingers, a fistling of a ball. But whatever he was about to say to his baby brother was lost in the air, when something big and spiky and loud came hurtling towards him.

"–AAAYYEEAARRGH!"

He neatly sidestepped the human-shaped missile, letting it crash harmlessly into the brick wall of the school gates. The Italian brothers passing through screamed and grasped each other close. Iceland rolled his eyes and, shifting Mr Puffin to sit more comfortably on his shoulder, strolled on to school, ignoring the newly opened hole in the wall and the wibbling Italians.

Norway stayed, eyeing the hole apprehensively.

Sure enough, a bruised, grinning face soon emerged from the hole after a few moments. "Norge! Good morning!"

Norway sighed as he watched the Dane brush himself off and step out of the rubble, none the worse for wear. The beaming smile plastered on the other boy's face served only to irritate him more. "Anko, uzai."

Denmark's face lit up like a light bulb, before he lunged at Norway with arms wide open.

"I've missed you tooo!"

With another sigh, Norway ducked under the flailing arms effortlessly and started walking again at his usual, unhurried pace through the gates. Denmark twisted on his heels and trotted, undeterred, after his best friend.

"You wouldn't let me see you at all" – Norway leant slightly to the side, and the tips of Denmark's outstretched fingers brushed his ear – "over the weekend" – a small skip to the left; Denmark caught only air in his grasp as he stumbled to a stop before him – "and I need to recharge on you!"

The Norwegian bent almost double backwards as the edge of Den's sleeve whispered over his nose. Without even batting an eyelash, he straightened, and kept walking towards the school building. Denmark ignored the looks they were getting from the other students – though most, already used to this morning routine, looked on with mild amusement – and eagerly followed him with a bounce to his step.

"Noooorge – "

"Anko," Norway said abruptly, stopping and looking up at him, "Uzai."

Denmark blinked, seemingly stunned by the intensity of Nor's unwavering gaze. Yet in a blink of an eye his face split into the familiar wide grin, and he threw his arm over Norway's thinner shoulders.

"Gotcha!" he crowed, hugging Norway close. "I knew you couldn't escape me!"

The twitching in Norway's eye grew worse.

"Now you have to come with me to the classroom," Den said excitedly, wheeling the other boy around, and began frog-marching him to the entrance. "And we'll sit together, and then you can show me your notes – your handwriting is so easy to read, you know that Nor? It's so neat and pretty, kinda like a girl's–"

A crackling sound cut him off, and Den looked down mid-speech to see lightning surrounding Norway's balled up fist, coming to meet his chin. A thunderclap resonated through the school grounds, whipping up dust and fallen leaves. Girls screamed and held onto their skirts; boys scrambled to either get away or get a better view. The echoes of the explosion gradually faded away as did the light, leaving a small crater with a befuddled, slightly sizzling Dane sitting in the middle of it.

Norway dusted his hands off and picked up his school bag, before advancing on the other boy. Not a muscle in his face moved, but if one squinted a lot, they might have imagined something moving in the morning light behind his small frame. Something big, and fanged, and green.

Denmark seemed to have finally caught on as well. He gave a nervous laugh, and a half-hearted effort to edge back. "N-Nor..."

"Anko," Norway's voice was as cold as his winter, "Uzai."

The big, fanged, green thing shifted in the air, and towered over the Dane.

"N...NOOOORR!"

Resting his chin on his hand, Iceland listened to the shrieks from his classroom window. It was a much better melody to his ears, compared to Hong Kong's snores coming from the desk in front of him.

* * *

Some hours later that day, after school, Denmark sat backwards on his chair with his arms wrapped around the intricately carved backrest, cheeks puffed and sulking.

Finland watched him with an anxious smile on his lips, and as the last ringing of the bell signalling the end of classes fell away, spoke up. "I take it that Nor and Ice aren't coming to club today?"

"But whyyy," Denmark whined from his place on the chair. "Today's an important meeting for the Nordic Club! They can't just _skive_!"

Finland sighed; there was no getting Den out of these moods when there was no Norway handy to shove the responsibilities off onto. He seated himself – properly – on the seat opposite to the self-appointed club president, sandwiching a table they had made themselves out of an old door back in the spring.

"If you want to talk about it, I c–"

"Yes!" Denmark leapt around in his own chair, before quickly forging his face back into that of a dejected puppy. "I mean, really? You would? Great! Okay, see, Nor's always being all tsun-tsun with me, right?"

"I wouldn't say tsun-tsun, more like outright–"

"Yeah! He's always avoiding me and calling me 'uzai' and hitting me with Thor's thunderbolts and using me as a chew-toy for the trolls and stuff! Hey, he needs to let some air out, I get it. But we're best buds, and best buds need to – to –" he flailed his arms around wildly, "converse our manly friendships with our bodies!"

_I believe _that_ may be your problem_, Finland thought, biting his lip. Aloud he said, "Ah, well..."

"He's too cold lately! It's almost like he doesn't want me around! Almost, because I know deep, deep, _deeeeep_ down –"

"Maybe you could –" Finland started helplessly.

"It's Ice. I bet it's Ice; ever since the whole DNA testing thing came out, Nor's been insisting on spending 'quality time' with that little turd. He wasn't like this _before_ –"

"Um..."

A shadow loomed over the both of them, and Finland jumped a little at the sudden warmth at his back. "D'n. Stop int'rruptin' Fin 'nd sh't up."

The look in Denmark's eyes grew hard. "Sve..."

"Su-san!" Finland tugged at the taller boy anxiously. "Don't start that again..."

"You d'n't change at all," rumbled Sweden, petting Fin's hair – "Eep!" – before turning his full attention back to the Dane. "No m'tter wh't. Y'r so h't-head'd 'nd loud, 't's no wonder Nor doesn't w'nt to sp'nd time with you 'nymore."

Den's face flushed red, and he sprang up from his perch on the chair. "Just say that again, and I'll tell you what _I_ think – with my fists –"

A loud bang broke the two apart, and they turned to find one of Fin's hands more or less embedded into the wooden table between them. He slowly raised his head, a pleasant smile etched under not-so-pleasant eyes.

"I would really," he said cheerfully, "like you both to sit quietly, and listen to me."

They both nodded vigorously, and took their seats swiftly. Finland smiled, softer now, at Sweden in appreciation, before addressing a much more obedient Denmark.

"Tanska, I think you do need a little change in your habits. Su-san is right about one thing; watching you and Nor interact makes me feel like you need to give him some space. Have you ever considered just...well, greeting him normally, for starters?"

"What!?" Denmark's head shot up. "I can't do that! Tackling Norway is pretty much the hugest thing I look forward to when I get up in the morning!"

"Glomping. You're glomping Nor," Finland corrected him. "I'm not saying you should be less enthusiastic about ... that, but you two've been together for as long as I can remember. Maybe he just needs some air. After all, one reason he overreacts to you most of the time is because you stick with him so much, isn't it?"

Denmark chewed the inside of his cheeks. "I...suppose..."

"'nd you should st'p attacking people, full stop," Sweden said from the side. "N't everyb'dy's as tr'gger h'ppy as you."

Denmark glared at him, but didn't dare move from his spot. Finland waved a dismissive hand in the air.

"Anyway, just take this piece of advice. Give him space. I'm sure he'll come around."

* * *

The next morning found Denmark almost breaking the homeroom class door in an effort to stop jumping on his target.

Germany gave him a stern look as he passed by, which Denmark ignored. He couldn't, however, ignore the way the younger Italian brother ran at him the second he entered the classroom, leapt into the muscular blonde's arms and snuggled in there.

"I can't believe they're not married yet," drawled France from his desk.

"Idiot, don't say that," muttered Prussia. "They're apparently not even _together_ together, and I really don't want to imagine what Lud'll be like when that happens." He threw a crumpled ball of paper across the classroom, only for it to hit the rim of the rubbish bin, and fortunately, barely miss the back of Russia's head. Prussia turned a shade paler than usual at his close call.

Denmark took a deep breath. Space. Give him space, he chanted to himself mentally, as he unlatched himself from the door, made his way through the threshold and slowly towards Nor, reading quietly at the back. Respect his personal boundaries or whatever.

Once he was within an arm's length of the other boy's desk, he stopped and cleared his throat. "Norway."

Norway blinked, and raised his eyes from the book. His gaze flitted from Denmark's shaking hands fisting the cloth of his uniform, before meeting his own. "Anko," he said flatly.

Deep breath, take it slow, he chanted to himself. "D-d-do you mind if I sit here?"

An elegantly raised brow. "...No."

Denmark perked up, but he struggled to keep his hands by his side. "Really? O-ok-kay!"

He slipped into the seat next to Norway, who had returned to his book. This was the longest he had ever gone without being physically attacked or snubbed in some way, and he was really rather proud of himself. He hadn't even touched Nor, although his hands were now digging their fingernails into the polished surface of the desk. Silence reigned over the two, Norway reading, and Denmark sitting at his desk as rigid as a block of wood.

After close to a minute, it was getting rather unbearable for him. He hadn't been this close to Nor without talking to him or touching him in a long time; during class was alright because one or the other of them would be asleep most of the time, but now there was nobody else he could distract himself with. He scanned the classroom for something of interest; Spain sat by the windowsill chatting to his boyfriend, the grumpy older Italian brother; Japan and England sat together, poring over a notebook he suspected was homework he hadn't done; Italy was telling a patient Germany about a dream he had had with wild, wide gestures as France and Prussia watched, smirking like dirty old women. The other Nordics, Iceland excluded for being a grade lower, was nowhere in sight. Denmark groaned inwardly, hearing the stoppers in his mind creak with him.

"Anko?"

Norway's voice by his ear made him spin around, startled. The nation's usually half-mast eyes grew wide in surprise, before he pulled away. "...You feeling ok?"

Inside, Denmark was screaming. _He noticed!_ _He noticed and he's worried about his big brother!_

Out loud, he said, "I...bathroom."

He bolted, but steadied himself enough to quick strides rather than full out running at the last second. Pushing past Hungary and Austria, he hurried out of the classroom, adjusting his tie –

–only to walk straight into Finland and Sweden, waiting expectantly outside the door.

"What are you guys –" Denmark started, before being grabbed by both shoulders and turned bodily around.

"What are _you_ doing!?" hissed Finland as Sweden nodded behind him. "You can't just run away, Ta-san!"

"I can't stand it!" yelped Denmark, muscles straining as he grabbed the nearest wall and clung on. "I need to get away! Fin, you don't understand, I'll blow if this continues!"

"Don't be an idiot," Finland _growled_. "You'll never get close enough to win his heart at this rate..."

"I don't _want_ to –" started Denmark irritably, before stopping. "Wait, what did you mean by that?"

Fin and Sweden exchanged glances. "Um..."

A golden blur flew past them and into the classroom before Denmark could press on. "Dudes! Listen up! The US of A just had a _brilliant_ idea!"

Denmark glared at the other two suspiciously, but they had piled in through the door before he had the chance to question them. He was momentarily distracted by what seemed to be a floating polar bear murmuring "Oh dear..." drifting into the room, before following it in curiously.

America, vibrant and loud as always, was speaking to the class. "Right, right, so remember last Friday, we had to decide what to do for the School Festival, right? And we, like, totally took votes on it, right? Which was a totally awesomely democratic thing to do, and I thought it was the perfect idea, but then – and this is the downside of voting with an equal number, I guess – we couldn't decide on the final two! No matter how many times we re-did the vote, it wouldn't change! So we put it off until we could find a better way to decide, remember?"

"Only because you wouldn't agree to the rock-scissors-paper or the coin flipping or the alcohol-holding game, Amérique," France interrupted.

"Only because _you_ wouldn't let me do the arm-wrestling or the football kicking or the hamburger scoffing," America shot back.

A tiny voice sounded from the edges of the circle of students that had formed. "Well, actually, I'd voted for the cafe, but my vote hadn't been counted for some reason..."

"Anyway!" America said loudly (the quiet voice was drowned out by him, but nobody came to its rescue, so it went unheard), "I, the class hero, have thought up the ultimate tie-breaker! Ladies and gentlemen and France, I present to you, the greatest, most awesomest event ever to be held, in the history of Hetalia Gakuen..." He paused dramatically. "The Gun Fight Survival Game To Decide the Event for the School Festival!"

Silence reigned.

"Woo! Awesome!" Prussia cried from the back.

"Abso-bloody-lutely not!" exclaimed England, getting up from his seat to make his way to the front. He'd been eyeing the boy up in the front suspiciously for some time now. Japan hurriedly folded his notebook and trailed after him. "This is by _far_ the stupidest thing you could think of, America! Honestly, does your mind ever consider the consequences? What happens afterwards? What about damages to school property?" – because, although they were currently students studiously studying at school, they were still immortal nations, and nobody was really that concerned about any negligible personal harm to their flesh bodies – "As president of the school council, I will _not_ tolerate this."

America pouted. "Aw, come on, Iggy..."

"_No_."

"England-san," Japan spoke softly. "Perhaps that is a bit too harsh. If we chose a better location for this activity –"

"It has to be at school!" America cried. "It'll spoil the whole atmosphere!"

"Don't be such a twit," the bushy-browed boy snapped at a pouting America. "That is out of the question! Besides, Japan, where are we going to find the equipment? The guns? Steal them from a field somewhere?"

"I could get us some, aru," China piped up from the back. "M4s, maybe even Colts, probably. I know some guys who know some guys who runs a place who can also get us ammo and refills, plus a few protective gears if anybody wants them, aru." He grinned. "For the right price, of course!"

"Ha!" Prussia barked a laugh. "I can stop a _fifty_ bullets with just my abs! Show 'em your man boobs, West!"

"Brother, don't..."

"That's what I hoped you'll say," China said approvingly.

Italy pulled out the pencil he was sucking at with a _plop_. "I want to see Germany's man boobs," he said happily.

There was another short silence.

"Regardless of Italy's preferences," England said, as Italy's pleading wails to be let go and please don't hurt hims floated from the edge of the room, accompanied by Germany's furious spluttering, "It is still a dangerous and irresponsible idea, and there is no way the teachers will approve of it."

America rolled his eyes. "Well, _duh_. That's why we're going to do it at night. In secret. Right, Japan?"

The smaller boy spluttered. "I – America-kun, it's – England-san, this isn't –"

"Don't you drag my vice-president into this," countered England angrily. Japan's face flamed impossibly red, and he fell into a steaming silence. "I maintain that it is stupid, you're stupid, and anybody who agrees with you is –"

"I don't know, it sounds like worth a shot to me," Hungary said, twirling her hair around her fingers.

England stared at her, eyes wide. "Hungary? But – you –"

She looked back at him defiantly, chin raised. "What is it, England? You going to badmouth a lady?"

Prussia snickered, and shut up once a glower was delivered his way.

"Besides," Hungary continued coldly, "I am wholly against the idea of forcing the girls to wear cat ears and maid costumes, which would be inevitable if the cafe option was somehow passed. It's debasing and sexist." She glared at France, who despite himself shrunk away a little. "I am prepared to fight for my rights, and the freedom of choice in costume. For both boys _and _girls. Theatre FTW!" She quickly covered her mouth.

"A real M4 rifle," murmured Switzerland, his eyes watching something far away. "If I could just hold that sleek majesty, not to mention feel the weight as it rests on my arms, and the utter glory of those aluminium shells falling out with every jump and jolt..."

His fingers were twitching disturbingly. Bulgaria, leaning on a desk beside him, edged away.

"I think it'll be fun, yes," Russia said, smiling. "We do not need to hold back, that is correct? Because," his smile grew just a tiny bit wider, "This is not a _real_ war, yes?"

"Right on, dude!" America said enthusiastically. "We couldn't blow each other's brains out even if we wanted to! Really really wanted to!"

Russia gave a dark chuckle. "We shall see about that."

Denmark cast a quick look around the gathered students. Most of them looked interested in the idea, although a few, like Germany returning to his space with a whining Italy in tow, wore more than sceptical looks. He glanced at Norway, separated from him by Cuba and the strange floating polar bear. As always, his face was unreadable, and it was only the reminder that he was trying to get into Nor's good graces that had Denmark biting his lips, when usually he would be whooping his appreciation at the thought of a chance to display his shooting-while-crawling-on-his-belly skills.

"See, England?" America grinned, turning back to him. "_Everyone_ wants to do it! You're not going to be a spoilsport, are you?"

"I don't care if I am," England said, bristling. "In case you need reminding, two out of those three have the potential to cause bodily harm at the very least, and the third already has an existing record –"

Hungary's smiling eyes seemed to bore through his skull.

"–that I have never seen before, ever, in my life, no sir, but the point remains," he took a deep breath, and glared at the American. "That I. Will not. Allow this."

America threw up his hands. "Fine. Be that way. Show's off, guys, it's not happening." A groan went through the crowd. "Sorry. But if the _school president_'s against it, there's nothing we can do."

"Just pick another time," France said smoothly. "And don't tell Eyebrows about it."

"I'm right _here_, frog," 'Eyebrows' snarled. America, however, shook his head.

"Come on, France," he smiled, "You know he could stay up all night at school to catch us if we give him the chance. And besides, what fun's a gun fight if there's no England to shoot at?"

France, along with a handful of other students, nodded thoughtfully. "True."

"I'm. Right. HERE."

"If old stick-in-the-ass can't get the stick out," America sighed dramatically, "Then there's nothing we can do, is there? There goes our fun." He waved a hand in front of England's face, closed it, and opened it. "Poof."

England's face turned scarlet, and squaring up his shoulders, he glared up into America's bespectacled eyes. "I am _not_ about to be guilt-tripped into this, you little _brat_. It's against a bunch of school rules, and whatever China says, his plans to get his hands on the guns may or may not be breaking a few felonies." ("Aiyah! I assure you, it's all perfectly legal... at my house!") "You should be THANKING me for stopping you – I don't even know why I'm bothering."

America laughed suddenly, throwing his head back. "Oh, it's okay, England," he grinned brightly, eyes shining. "You don't have to lie."

"_Excuse_ me?"

"Seriously, it's okay," America shrugged, "We all know you're just.." He leaned in, winking. "…Scared."

"Ooh," Spain called, smugly, giggling even as England shot him a death glare and Romano jabbed him with an elbow out of terror. France and Prussia snickered nearby.

England whirled back on America. "And pray tell," he snarled, "Just _what_ am I afraid of?"

America shrugged, again, his wide grin still in place even as his eyes flickered once to the side from beneath Texas. "Oh, you know. Well. Just that you won't be able to keep up with us. Yeah, that's it."

Denmark almost shook his head unbelievably. Come on, even he could tell what America was trying to do. There was no way that England, top of their class and president of the school council, would fall for –

"That is the most _ridiculous_ claim I have ever heard," the school president scoffed loudly. Denmark rolled his eyes. "I assure you, I can beat you at warfare any day of the week!"

Den felt his jaw drop. _You're kidding me._

"Oh yeah?" America countered, barely able to contain his triumphant grin. He was on a roll, now; he'd gotten what he wanted. He spread his arms wide, challenging. "You've got a pretty loud bark, man, but I bet your bite's got nothing on me. Hey, tell you what," his gloating grin grew even wider, and Denmark got a feeling of what was coming next. "I challenge you, old man, to a – a – full-out shoot out! Yeah! How 'bout it?"

He stuck a defiant finger in front of England's face, who slapped it away in a second, scowling.

"I'll make you eat those words along with twenty bullets stuffed down your throat, you cheeky bastard," he growled. There was something in his eyes that screamed out to everybody in the room that maybe, just maybe, this was a bad idea.

Japan finally stepped in, uncertain and hesitant. "Um, England-san," he said. "I do not know if –"

"Japan," the school council president said, eyes still on America, "Prepare the flags."

"Pardon me?"

"Each team's goal will be to steal a coloured flag from the other's territory in order to win this battle. We cannot fight without a clear mission in mind! China, get the guns. By Friday." He ignored the protests sounding from where China stood. "Make it quick! The teachers are grading the papers from last week's exam –" a good portion of the class winced – "and so would be marking them at home to finish them all that day. We'll have the night to ourselves, once we take down the guard."

There was a sort of manic gleam to his eyes now, as he twirled on his heels and stepped out of the ring of students, who parted the way for him. "And the rest of you! Be at the grounds by one-nine-hundred sharp! The cafe troops will meet at lunchtime this Wednesday to discuss tactics, and tardiness will not be accepted! Dismissed!"

Somebody might have tried to say something – Japan, trotting quickly at his president's heels, was certainly trying, and maybe Germany, who was turning steadily from red to purple. Maybe France or Spain had looked affronted that Eyebrows was somehow taking the lead, and they might have argued, but before anyone could open their mouth, the bell rang. Talking loudly amongst themselves, the crowd dispersed, and Denmark took brief notice of America staring determinately at the retreating Brit's back, arms crossed, before hurrying back to his own seat as the ever-punctual Professor Germania strode in to take attendance for first period.

He tried to catch Nor's attention as he took his seat, but Nor took no notice of him and instead chose to stare at some spot on the blackboard. Germania's math class had a no-note passing policy, which didn't matter anyway since Denmark had to spend a good twenty minutes being yelled at for not doing his homework _again_, and was made to stand in the corridor, where he and America complained to each other about how it was unfair that nations like the Italy brothers and Poland had friends or boyfriends or relatives who made sure they actually did the extra work (or did it for them).

* * *

"Sooo..." Finland raised his eyebrows, and wriggled them expectedly, "how did it go?"

Denmark shot a tired glare at the obviously excited Finn. "You were _there_, most of the time."

"Yes! But not all of it!"

He groaned. Seriously, what was up with Fin recently?

Sweden gazed down at the golden crown of his "wife"'s head (who was practically bouncing cross-legged in the grass). "Y're so c'te l'ke th't."

"Eep! I'm sorry, Su-san, what was that?"

Denmark, who had secretly learnt how to decipher the Swede's confusing speaking habit through years of growling expletives at each other through gritted teeth, chose to say nothing to help when the taller boy looked away with a ferocious scowl, possibly his attempt at a blush. They sat under a birch tree growing at the corner of the courtyard, as the trickle of students leaving school for the day started to thin. There was no Nordic club meeting today, but Finland and Sweden had pulled Denmark over as soon as class had let out to hear his progress with Norway.

Denmark gritted his teeth. "I brushed his shoulder against mine, once. Otherwise we had different classes for the rest of the day, so that's it."

Finland let out something that suspiciously sounded like a "squee". Den hoped he'd misheard. "That's wonderful! I knew you had it in you! See what you can accomplish if you set your mind on something?"

"I guess." If the growing discomfort in his chest was any cause for worry. "But I don't really see how this will help –"

"It will," Finland said firmly. "Effect's been taking hold already, I can tell. Give it a few more days, maybe a week, and Norway'll be wondering what's up with you! _Don't you want him to be wondering?"__  
_  
That did sound nice. "But – Fin, a week? I'll explode!"

"No you won't." Sometimes he wished he had more sympathetic friends.

Sweden was nodding, like as though he did anything else when Finland spoke. He wanted to punch in those glasses, too.

Just as Denmark was whining – very manli-ly, definitely not in the way the younger Italy did when Germany had taken away his pasta – and had curled up in a small ball, his head between his knees, a whirl of messy sand-yellow hair and black material came to a screeching stop before them. "Finland! Sweden! Denmark! Thank goodness, I've caught you. Give me your affiliated teams!"

Finland blinked. "E-England? What's the rush? And why are you wearing a wizard's cape?"

England snatched the billowing midnight-black cape from his shoulders, blushing slightly over his already flushed cheeks. "This is nothing! It's nothing! It's definitely not a super-important component of the super-secret Dark Magic Clu – I mean!" He huffed. "I have been searching all over for you lot, you're the last ones to sign your life away for my cause - _I_ _mean_, choose which team you want to be in. For the gun fight. Which we're changing to paintballs if it's the last thing I do. Definitely not because I don't want to hurt America, that big oaf, when I take him down and laugh at his downfall, _obviously_, he's too thick-skinned for it to hurt anyway –"

"So soon?" exclaimed Finland, ignoring the rant that dwindled down to a lot of frantic hand gestures and looking around for no sign of America.

"Well," England huffed – he was really out of breath – "The cafe team needs to get the plan down by tomorrow, and America's being a right little copycat and setting the theatre team's meeting at the same time. I've been rushing around collecting signatures and teams from everyone – my council helped, of course, except for France that _bastard_ – and I need yours _now_."

"Oh," Finland said as politely as he could. He took the slip of paper England handed him, and passed another to Sweden. "So you really _are_ on the cafe team?"

"Of course. What other great opportunity would there be for me to be able to serve my superior tea and home-baked scones?"

All three Nordics looked at each other in a rare moment of unity. "Ma'be j'st th' tea," Sweden said.

"What was that?"

Denmark cut in quickly. "Uh, hey, England, if we're the last ones, then has ... has Norway signed already?"

The pair of bushy eyebrows pulled themselves together. "Norway? Yes, I had a poetry class with him last period. What about him?"

Damn. He'd been so preoccupied with keeping his distance from Nor today, he hadn't had the chance to ask him which team he wanted. "You wouldn't, ah, happen to know which side he's on, would you?" Denmark tried. He ignored the sparkly-eyed look Finland was sending from beside him.

But England was shaking his head. "No can do, old chap. Each choice must be made independently, without any influence from an external source. We're all serious about our projects, see? And we can't have people joining one group because they're friends or going out with someone there. Or have someone they want to obliterate on the other side. _I _have to deal with France, so tough it up, love."

The Dane's jaw dropped. "That's not fair! No way is everybody following that rule, you have people like _them_," he gestured to Finland and Sweden, who were already scratching into their slips, "who can practically read each other's minds! They're bound to choose the same thing!"

England shrugged. "That is hardly my problem. Besides, even if they do happen to be on the same team," he took both slips from the other two, squinted at them, and replaced them in his bag, "then it's purely coincidental. Or one was simply very persuasive to the other. All is fair." He shrugged. "Besides, if you and Norway are as close as you always loudly, obnoxiously proclaim to be, you should be able to read _his_ mind then, hmm?"

He had a point. Denmark frowned in concentration. He and Norway were best buds – sure, they had their differences, but that's how friends were. How _best_ friends were. He hadn't spent a good portion of his life with the mysterious boy without picking up the more subtle signs off him, and he prided in being able to call himself the greatest, if not only, expert on Norway in the whole school (except perhaps Iceland. But that didn't count, they were siblings, and nothing could get in between siblings, he'd learnt).

Norway was quiet, but not shy. Norway wasn't anti-social, he just seemed to float above everything. Norway was the only one in the entire school who actually liked having tea with England and talking about faerie folk and whatnot. Norway was steady with his hands (of course – he was a Nordic), wasn't afraid of giving critical reviews of the products Den would try to sell at his part-time job (or rather, Den himself), and would look stunning in a maid outfit.

Den scribbled "cafe" onto his slip of paper, and handed it to England before he could change his mind or question the last thought he had. The school president nodded, satisfied, as he accepted the final paper.

"Your cooperation will be much appreciated, and I swear on the behalf of the Fellowship of the Class Ring that your sacrifice will not be in vain – I mean, let's fight together and let me use you as an insignificant stepping stone in defeating the evil America – I mean kicking his arse - oh, bollocks," he muttered, and he and his folded cloak (only 9.99, at the Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions near _you!_) swept away hurriedly across the courtyard, back to the school building.

Denmark spoke after the British boy was well out of earshot. "You guys chose theatre, didn't you."

"They're always in need of a few extra hands!" Finland said defensively. "And I'm sure Su-san will be more than contributive, he makes the best furniture out of all of us – and with really easy instructions!" He beamed up at Sweden, who promptly glared at a poor flower growing amongst the weeds, although by now they all knew that his grimace was because the setting sun was in his eyes.

Denmark sighed, remembering what a skilled shot Finland had been with slingshots and water guns and plastic arrows when they had been younger, and a chill ran down his spine. He would not want to be in the place of the poor bastard who underestimated the slight boy on sight. The Dane had known he was taking a big risk by choosing the cafe team, but Norway being on the same team should make things bearable.

He perked up almost immediately. He could show Norway all his cool moves and one-liners he'd memorised from Tom Crew films! Maybe he could get a bike, a big red one, and then he'll sit Norway on the back and he could drive, without mirrors, while Norway leaned over and fired at their pursuers while keeping an arm or a tight, trouser-clad leg across his waist –

"Oh, Nor!" Fin called, waving his arms widely. "And Ice, too!"

Speak of the devil.

The two brothers were traipsing across the well-trimmed grass over to them, Iceland clutching at his shoulder-bag hold and keeping a determined step or two ahead of Nor. Denmark shook the ebbing remnants of his strange fantasy away, and straightened up, and almost ran to glomp Norway before remembering that he was acting cool right now, and for at least a week – a week! But maybe he can cut that period short by showing off his badass side on Friday. He settled for a subdued grin and a wave, before returning his shaking hand to his pockets and earning a strange look from Iceland for his trouble. Norway, as always, looked unconcerned.

"I heard your class is doing something stupid," were the first words out of Iceland's mouth when they reached the tree.

Finland sighed exasperatedly. "Nor, you know you can't tell him –"

"He knew before I did," Norway replied, although he didn't deny he was going to. "It was that Hong Kong kid, he apparently got a phone call from China enlisting help in procuring goods for 'those impossibly demanding Eyebrows, aru' by Friday. And he called during class, so it would have been hard to be inconspicuous."

"Oh, dear," Finland groaned. "Well, trusting Hong Kong, he covered it up well enough. You're not to tell _anybody_, okay, Ice? We could get suspended for doing this, or worse, expelled!"

The youngest Nordic scoffed. "Duh. Why would I do something that's so not worth it? But can I come watch?"

"No." Norway eyed him shrewdly; he _could_ be the big brother sometimes, if only Ice would let him. "Besides, why would you? You called it stupid not ten seconds ago."

"I – buh – you –"

"Did you see England already?" Both Fin and Sweden nodded. Den managed a sort of jerky action with his neck. When had his palms gotten so sweaty? "Let me guess," to Finland and Sweden, "you two chose theatre."

"Is it so wrong?" asked Finland tightly.

"No."

"O-oh. Thank you."

"Norway!" Denmark burst out, speaking for the first time since the brothers had arrived. Dammit, his hands would be sprouting a waterfall from his pockets soon, and he didn't know why he was so nervous. It was worse when Norway finally turned his bored eyes on him. "You're – what did you choose?"

Nor stared at him for a long, contemplating second. "...You first."

Why not? "Cafe!" he announced proudly, certain that his best friend would say the same. They could talk about what kind of themed cakes they could make on the way home, and tomorrow they'll go over their special combination techniques and maybe Denmark could die a heroic death (not really possible, but he could dream) protecting Norge from an enemy bullet – or paintball, whatever...

"Hm." Norway paused again. Then, slowly, kind of creepily, his lips started to smile. Denmark could have died right at that moment – when had he last seen Norway smile?

Except, well, his eyes weren't.

"Well, Anko. I guess we'll see you on the battlefield. _I'm_ aiming for the director's seat for theatre."

...Yeah, he really could have died at that moment. He was as good as, anyway.

* * *

A/N:

**About the title:** Because I always felt that the characters of Hetalia all play a different part only they can fill, kind of like an orchestra. Too poetic-y? Maybe.

**About the Nordics**: They're close friends. Really! The drama was much worse when they were in middle school/junior high, but they've softened up since then and have made up. Den and Su-san still get it up with each other once in a while, but by the time they graduate they're how you see modern day Den and Su-san in the manga and anime (and yes, they _do _graduate in this universe. Eventually.) And Den isn't an idiot, although he acts like it most of the time – he's just boisterous and energetic, and tends to lose sight of things around him, but no-one can deny he has a big heart.

And as for why Finland and Sweden (or really just Finland, Sweden being the good, supportive husband he is) are being so fangirly, they've already suspected for a long, long while that Den has feelings for Nor. And only recently suspected that Nor might return then. Why waste a perfect opportunity to check that? (And see Denmark squirm, in Sweden's case.)

**About the years/grades: **Yeeaah…I'll be the first to admit that I hadn't _quite_ thought out the ages and corresponding school years/grades to this. Or how everyone even ages. Let's pretend that the somewhat "younger" nations are in a "grade" below – for example, Iceland, Hong Kong, Taiwan, South Korea (who isn't really what I'd call "young", but was shown to be pretty chummy with Hong Kong, and I thought "Wouldn't it be more fun to lump them altogether in a group, and Iceland kind of tags along with the trendy Asians and they do teenage things together?" So.), Lichtenstein, Vietnam (again, association with Taiwan, and Lichten needed more girl friends?), and Belarus (placed here solely for Russia's comfort, haha) – but that doesn't necessarily mean that they are all the same age. Likewise for our main characters – Spain, France, Prussia, Hungary, England, etc are obviously a year or two older than America, Germany, and the Italy brothers (who are twins in my headcanon and thus the same age), but they're placed in the same grade and so will graduate together when the time comes. Maybe they have some classes together, like homeroom or Germania's math class, while others like, I don't know, politics are separated by level or how their governments runs things (so Russia and China got to have a class all to themselves at one point? Sweet). The students I've had in mind which are in the grade above _them_ are just Greece and Ukraine at the moment, set to graduate the fastest (whenever that is). China and Japan are in fact even older, but the headmaster *coughRomecough* didn't believe them or their track record when they entered the school, not that it really matters to either of them right now.

**About Hetalia Gakuen: **Hetalia Gakuen is a prestigious, old school, currently directed by the very charismatic and well-aged Headmaster Rome, which educates and nurtures young and old nations to cooperate with each other in order to create a peaceful and prosperous world (obviously not our own, sadly enough). The Gakuen consists of a kindergarten, a primary faction, a secondary faction, and is also connected with Hetalia University, located on a different campus. Alongside basic subjects such as languages, mathematics, science, etc, students are also taught subjects such as economics and politics, religious studies, and even law to ready them for a future as a nation worthy of their duties (although graduates have been known to pursue their separate careers in addition as well). Basically, don't question it.

**Paintball gun fight:** …Yeah, I kind of ripped off School Rumble on that part, if you've noticed. Not intentionally at first, but conclusively so. I'm going to have to re-watch the episodes again to see what else I can use – um, avoid.

**The Gakuen Universe as a whole: **I am planning for this to be a long-term project (and I mean it when I say "long" – I'm not a very frequent updater, though I try). The other characters all have their separate back stories and future plans already, so I'm hoping to expand on them – I even have a mental flow chart with diagrams and everything! So please stay with me, especially if you have other favourite characters and want to follow their adventures. I sincerely hope it'll be worth your time.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I've decided this is going to be my summer project for the year, hoping some more people other than myself are along for the ride.**

**As mentioned in the description, this story is DenNor centric but has multiple pairings I am planning to follow up with stories apart from this later. Some pairings have been decided, others not so firmly set in stone. If you have any requests, there may be a chance I might just use them when I run out of new ideas, so feel free to suggest them!**

**See end notes for more details.**

* * *

(The following documents the significant activities undertaken by and surrounding the nations of Class 2-A, High School Faction, Hetalia Gakuen Secondary School, as recorded by Mon A. Co, T. Wan, and E. Hérderváry, with special thanks to F. Bonnefois and T. Väinämöinen.)

– X – X – X –

_Friday, 07:22_

Japan sighed his tenth sigh of the day as he reached the school gates, and it was still early in the morning. Today was the day. He and England had meticulously prepared and gone over and tied all the loose ends in their plans for the event tonight, He'd agreed to look over the finer parts, even if it took the whole night – all those times he had to pull all-nighters in order to meet the deadline of his manga and doujinshi really paid off.

And England had been concerned, had asked if he was pushing himself too much, crinkling those eyebrows Japan always had his attention drawn to. He'd offered to stay up with him and work on it together. And Japan had been tempted to accept the offer, to spend the night with his president, alone and close...

But he knew that England had other duties, and that he got crabby if he didn't get enough sleep. Besides, as the leader of the cafe team, he would need his energy for the night. That was how he had reasoned with England and had politely declined, while mentally kicking himself for passing up the sort of perfect opportunity he'd secretly read about in comics aimed at young girls. Again.

Japan liked England. A lot. He didn't know what it was that attracted him to the fussy Brit – at first, he thought it was simple admiration to the way England held himself, and the authority he issued, but somewhere along the line he'd had an epiphany that he was acting, and thinking, like the female lead in _Kimi ni Todoke_. He crept around England and stood watching him from the side-lines, the perfect wallflower. Japan had never worked so hard for a position in the school community as he had to be the vice-president of the school council, but it was all to be able to be by England's side, to support him in times of need, and he was ashamed of his impure objectives in running for the job.

Of course, he didn't have the courage to speak up about his true feelings. Nobody knew, not even his closest friends, he was sure; Japan was fairly hard to read, if he would say so himself. And England _was_ one of his friends, and he cherished his relationship with the president – they could talk to each other freely about what was bothering them; they shared interest in many things, like studying and tea and reading; England would sometimes invite him for dinner at his house and Japan would be overcome with joy, even though it meant he had to endure a spiking pain in his gut the next day.

He was happy with that. He couldn't wish for more.

Until America came into the picture.

He'd only met America upon entering the high school faction of Hetalia Gakuen, and that he had been taken aback by the boy's vibrant personality was an understatement. The western nations were all outgoing and at times confusing to Japan, but America had taken the cake. The huge, chemically coloured, red-blue-white, extremely fatty looking cake, to be exact. He was friendly to everyone, though loud and easily excited, and he'd made fast friends with Japan as well, chatting non-stop about Gundam and Power Rangers and Godzilla and bringing him surprisingly well-written proposals of making an action-packed horror movie together. He was good at sports, not so good at history and geography and the concept of free health care, but he could strike up lengthy arguments with Russia on the principals of rocket science. _Rocket science_.

And he teased England. He was very good at that, too.

England had told Japan of America when they had first met and worked together upon entering the lower faction of the secondary school, and during those years Japan had thought he had formed a rather accurate image of England's estranged younger brother. America was adopted, and had looked up to and adored England as his older sibling and mentor when they were kids. As they grew up, however, he became reclusive, hanging out with what England had called "a bad crowd", until eventually he had left home after a big fight with England. Around this point England would give into the tears building up in his eyes, and disintegrate into a sobbing pile wailing expletives at America, and Japan would have to usher along curious passers-by, nothing to see here, please move along.

Japan had imagined America as a surly teenager, regularly skipping school to smoke joints behind the grounds. And he'd thought, from the sound of it, that America hated England, and vice versa.

He couldn't have been more wrong, he would discover later.

"Japan." He blinked at his name, and stopped in his footsteps to turn at the voice.

An older boy with messy, dark hair, three of his shirt buttons undone to reveal shapely collarbones, walked up to him from the gates, waving a lazy hand. "...Hi."

"Greece-san," Japan said, unable to hide his surprise. He and Greece were good friends by coincidence, even though they were a grade apart; he had once found Japan cooing at one of his kittens on the way home and had gotten along well together, after overcoming the initial embarrassment. They talked often; or rather, Japan talked, and Greece listened, which made it too easy for the usually quiet Asian boy to go on at length about his interests, the student council's work, and, as those two topics will inevitably lead to, about England.

"You're...you're up early," he offered timidly.

Greece shrugged nonchalantly. "That bastard Turkey woke me up by throwing stones at my window. I had to chase him away because he was terrorising the cats. Thought I'd come here since I was already awake." A slight crease had appeared between his eyes at the mention of Turkey, but they disappeared quickly. "...You're later than usual."

How Greece knew that when he always arrived at school ten minutes after the bell, Japan couldn't imagine. "Our class...we had morning drills along the river side an hour before. Um, Germany-san had us do some laps. And more." He shuddered slightly. Germany was almost too worked up for the match for some reason, and had taken up the responsibility in getting the cafe troops ready by planning and conducting a training schedule over three days. Japan just hoped Germany wouldn't ban him from his salted salmons again.

Greece was watching him carefully. "I heard your class is planning a paintball match?"

"How do you – no, never mind," Japan sighed, again. "Please, don't tell anyone of this."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Privately, Japan thought that there wasn't anyone else _to _tell who wasn't aware of America's great plan. Taiwan had come bounding up to him yesterday, asking him excitedly about his outfit for the battle and if he was fighting for the café side could he please wear a maid costume with the skirt hitched up and garter belt showing while wielding a gun because that would be so _cute_! And maybe possibly take a picture while he was at it?

Information got around the school quickly, especially when they were trying to prevent exactly that from happening.

"I heard you're on England's team," Greece said. Japan's heart skipped a beat at the mention of his crus – _president's_ name, but before he could answer, the sleepy boy had more to say in his slow, thoughtful manner. "...Will you be alright?"

The slight Asian boy smiled. "I may not have the fittest body, but I am sure I can handle myself somehow. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve."

"That's not exactly what I meant, but that's good to hear, too."

Mild uneasiness started to grow in Japan. "Excuse me for not following, but then what did you mean?"

Greece's dark eyes were unreadable. "...Sometimes, you know. I think you give too much to that boy."

Uneasiness gave way to rising dread. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

The other boy didn't speak for a while, and Japan decided this conversation had ended. One large reason he and Greece were friends was because neither of them were great conversationalists; they were comfortable with the silence that came with each other, and so Japan never felt pressured to talk more than he wanted to.

This silence, however, was nowhere near comfortable, and Japan could only think about how quickly he wanted to escape to the safety of his own classroom, and did –

–Did Greece _know_...?

He decided to steer their talk to other things. "Has your class planned anything for the Festival yet?" he asked politely.

As always, Greece took some time to answer. "...Yes," he said eventually. "We're doing a casino."

"...A what?"

"A casino. People play cards, bet on stuff, you know. The winners get a prize." He saw Japan's alarmed look. "Not money. Sweets and toys, those kinds of things."

"O-oh," Japan ducked his head and laughed softly. All his wariness fell away. "I thought...I was being silly, forgive me."

He raised his head to smile apologetically at the other boy, only to notice Greece was staring at him intently, again. Japan looked away quickly, heat rising to his face and not really knowing why, and started walking towards the school building. Greece followed closely behind.

Japan had gone home after Germany's (_excruciating, bone-wrecking_) morning drill, taken a shower, changed, and had headed for school in record time. He liked to come to school early, so that he had some time to himself before class, and could watch from the windows as the others arrived. As Greece had pointed out, he was later than he usually was, but it was still early; he had only seen a few yawning, bleary-eyed students on his way here, and right now, there were only the two of them on the wide school grounds. The morning was quiet, and he closed his eyes briefly to the peace and the soft sun light.

They continued in silence, and had almost reached the brown brick building when Greece spoke again. "America's planning something for the game. For England. I overheard."

This makes Japan's ears perk up. Plans made for England? A special trap?

Anxiety rushed through his veins as his mind ran possible ways England could be hurt. Not seriously, for they were nations after all, but pain was still pain. He needed to know more. "Did you hear what?"

Greece shook his head. "No. But...it didn't sound dangerous. Not bad."

"Not bad" could cover a lot of things, and Japan wasn't about to risk anything for his president. He knew, now, that America was not a bad person, but the boy could get so carried away at times. Plus there was the history between the two brothers. Adoptive brothers. "...Alright. I shall ask America-kun myself. Thank you for telling me this."

He gave a small, polite bow, and had started up the staircase to his classroom as they entered the main building, when Greece called him back.

"England can hold his own, you know. He doesn't always need your help."

Japan stopped, and turned to look back. At the foot of the stairs Greece was looking up after him, hands in his pockets, expression blank. The uneasiness came back, rooting Japan's feet to the step.

He bit his lip. "Thank you for your concern. But I am merely doing my job as vice-president. It is my pleasure to work for him, after all."

Greece's gaze was unwavering. "That's an excuse. And you know it." He stopped, and was it a trick of the light, but did his jaw tighten a little? "And...I know, too."

His breath stuck. For a moment, the world dimmed around him, and he stared at Greece without really seeing him. He barely heard his next words, but they were enough.

"You like England. More than a friend." Greece was still watching him carefully. "But he doesn't like you back."

Japan forced his suddenly dry mouth to move. "N-no."

The olive-skinned boy's voice was gentle, but in the silent corridors they echoed eerily. "_I_ could, you know."

Japan stared at him, blankly, before taking a step back. He almost stumbled at the stairs, grabbing at the polished handrails. "No."

Greece didn't follow, but his dark eyes seemed to pin Japan down. "I can. Like you back."

Panic was settling in Japan's stomach, as well as an unfamiliar anger. So what was Greece proposing? That he gave up on England and start pursuing Greece? It wasn't that simple. Nothing ever was to Japan, and he secretly hated that, hated that no-one could understand that.

But blowing up at his friend, and so early in the morning at that, wasn't in his nature. So Japan stuttered out the first thing that came to his mind instead.

"I...I have to go."

And he fled.

– X – X – X –

_Friday, 07:40_

China stood on one leg on the front lawn of the share house, arms spread, hair let down.

It was a warm morning. Summer was still a few months away, but the sun was out, and he could feel its rays stroking his closed eyelids. There was a small chittering of birds from over their garden fence, but otherwise everything was quiet and peaceful.

In one graceful sweep, he brought his other leg around and placed it behind the first. Careful not to disrupt the balance, he lowered his centre of gravity, and made a slow, large circle with his outstretched arms, letting the air whisper between his fingers.

Nothing like Tai Chi early in the morning. Everything was so calm, so tranquil –

"_Xian sheng_! South Korea recorded his dance show over my anime!"

"I told you, I'm sorry! How was I supposed to know there wasn't any space left in the device –"

"Hey, like, has anyone seen my yellow cardigan? I swear I left it on the chair yesterday..."

China's left eyebrow twitched. He breathed in, breathed out deeply, trying to drown out the commotion from inside...

"You shouldn't have left it lying around. Wha – that was my last kimchi ration! I was _saving_ that!"

"Good riddance. It stinks up the entire fridge. Now, help me find it – it's an essential part of my coordinated fashion today, and I can't show up Iceland looking like _this._"

"What coordinated fashion? It's the same uniform as always!"

"_Aiyah!_ It's even written over the rerun of _Sailor Moon Crystal_! I was looking forward to that!"

"It's uploaded online, Wan."

"Yeah, but I wanted to see it on the plasma screen...!"

China gave up and righted himself, bringing his hands together one last time. He loved his siblings, and was glad they managed to get a share house together to go to school from, but the young ones could be so restless. No wonder they couldn't seem to get along half the time, even though he knew they could be formidable if they just learnt to listen to him. But no, Taiwan and Hong Kong and South Korea had apparently decided that they were going through the teenager phase all together, which inevitably lead to much chaos any how.

Macao smiled at him as he passed him on his way out. "Alright there, China?"

"Fine, just fine, aru," he sighed. He watched Macao make his way out of the gate and to school, feeling like he deserved a few more minutes outside by himself before going back into the house.

Japan had already gone to school, too, after the little work out the bossy school president had ordered to be carried out for the students rooting for the cafe attraction. As he ran through the list of students on the cafe side, China had to admit that they were going to need the work; Japan was certainly not one for strenuous exercises, and there were the Italy brothers. In fact, the theatre side was already at an advantage, having most of the heavy lifters of the class, including America and Russia. Even China considered himself pretty deft with the wok.

To say he was a little worried about Japan would be a lie. It didn't seem he had gotten much sleep the night before (then again, China didn't exactly know what he did in his room – only Taiwan was ever allowed in, and the eldest brother would have been worried until he remembered that the both of them had an incurable obsession for 2-D character figures) and he had gotten up so early, again. China _had _suggested that maybe he should sleep in a little more, just for today, but the younger boy had shrugged it off. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, really, so China had left it at that.

But there was another reason he worried...and though he had decided he would not intrude in other's personal affairs, he still didn't want to see his little brother hurt.

"Good morning, China."

He jumped, and looked around a little at the voice. A tall boy with light hair and a heavy scarf resting around his shoulders smiled at him from beyond the gate, leaning his arms upon the fence (which looked ready to bend under their weight). "Up early as always, I see."

China acknowledged the boy with a nod. "Russia. You too, aru."

Russia smiled at him, eyes dancing in the morning light. "Are you looking forward to today?"

"It was good business, aru," China replied smoothly, "but this is as far as I'm concerning myself in the game. Not unless there's a chance to punch that Eyebrows in the face."

That earned him a small chuckle. "England has to something to watch out for, then," Russia said in his light, sing-song voice. "But _I'm _after much bigger prey, myself."

The Asian boy raised a quizzical brow. "Oh? What do you have in mind?"

"Nothing, if it comes to it," Russia said. "But it should be so much fun if my expectations are correct." He leaned forward over the fence, smile stretching wider. "I've been watching, you see, our dear leader America over the past few days. Didn't you think it was strange? How he insisted so to make this all happen? It was almost like he had some kind of...ulterior motive."

China hadn't noticed, since he had been so busy running around and getting in touch with his contacts to make a good buck, but he was reminded once again of how perceptive Russia could be. He frowned; he didn't like the idea of being taken advantage of, especially not by that over-energetic blonde idiot.

"...But America is on our team, aru," he said, struck by a thought. "How are you going to...do whatever you're planning to do?"

Russia laughed, again, and it sent a small chill down China's spine. "Patience, China. It takes patience to hunt a prey down. And when it makes a slip..." he turned away, but not before showing a glint of sharp, white teeth. "I'll be waiting for him."

– X – X – X –

_Friday, 08:13_

"Romanooo!"

Italy Romano grumbled at the annoying, sunny voice from below. He was tired, damn it, and after that horrible morning training with that horrible potato bastard, he deserved the rest. "Go away," he muttered into his pillow.

"Romano! We're going to be late! Your bother and Germany's already gone!"

Yeah, and his crybaby of a brother wouldn't get this last bit of shut-eye before their afternoon siesta because he had been dragged away, weeping his eyes out, by that muscle-crazy machine he called a friend. Sucks for him.

Something hard hit his half-open window. "Romano, if you don't get up in the next five seconds, Boss will climb up there and personally carry you to school!"

So he had five seconds. That sounded good...maybe more like five minutes...

"Fivefourthreetwoone hi Romano! _Buenos días!_ It's a beautiful day!"

The voice suddenly sounded very close. Romano reluctantly cracked open his eyes, and felt like his stomach had dropped.

He leapt out of bed, to the joy of the manically smiling Spaniard hanging half out of his third-story window, and hurried to grab onto the front of his beige school vest. "Idiota! What do you think you're doing!" He pulled Spain in – and the bastard had the audacity to laugh, he should have clocked that stupid handsome face – using all of his strength, lost balance, and landed on his ass with Spain on top of him. The older boy's vest was still tight in his grip.

Spain smiled at him even more, if that was possible, his warm breath brushing Romano's nose. "Hi."

At that moment, his bedroom door flew open. "Romano, my darling grandson who is the splitting image of your Nonno when he was younger! Are you awake to the world? I heard a large bump, are you–"

The words broke off, and Romano thumped his head on the floor, groaning inwardly.

"GET OFF OF MY HANDSOME GRANDSON THIS INSTANT, YOU LITTLE–"

– X – X – X –

_Friday, 08:20_

"Austria, honey, we don't turn left there, we just keep going straight down this road."

"Are you quite sure? I could have sworn this was a short cut."

Hungary smiled patiently. "We take this way every morning to school, I think I'm quite sure."

"Oh. Very well. Can we – can we stop for a while? I think I'm a little out of breath."

"Of course." And they took the liberty to sit on a low brick wall of a nearby house, as they always did.

Such was their daily routine in the morning, and Hungary was quite happy with it. Ever since they had befriended each other in middle school (after years of acquaintance, but not really friendship, in primary school before that) Hungary walked Austria to school because otherwise he had to leave home at the crack of dawn in order to make it in time. Austria apparently had no sense of direction and tired very easily, but Hungary let him keep his gentlemanly pride and think that he was walking her to school, not the other way around. It was one of the things she loved about him.

Although, Hungary thought, the happy butterflies in her stomach subsiding dramatically, there were negative sides about this being a daily routine, too.

And he should be here in three, two, one...

"Kesesesese!" And there he was, skidding around the corner with that annoying red-eyed grin and the little yellow bird nestled in his white hair. "Ah, I see you've been waiting for me today again, you sad pair! Well, have no fear, for the great Kingdom of Prussia is here! Hey, that rhymes!" He jogged over to them, panting just so very slightly. "And I totally did not just come dashing because I was afraid you were gonna leave me behind like you did before!"

Hungary rolled her eyes. He was almost _too_ predictable.

"Good morning, Prussia," Austria said absent-mindedly, picking at his cravat. She supposed she better greet him, too, if only to avoid having Austria think of her as some kind of an uncultured barbarian.

She stood up, flipping her hair, hands on hips. "That was _one_ time! And you'd told us there was no need for us to wait. God, you need to learn to let go. This is why you don't have any friends."

Prussia puffed out his chest and crossed his arms over it. "Y-yeah I do! I hang out with France and Spain all the time!"

"Oh really? Where are they now?"

The bird on Prussia's head chirped brightly, as if in encouragement. "Wha – I don't have to be with them twenty-four seven, you know. And the only reason I'm hanging out with you losers is because I'm letting West spend his quality time with Ita-chan. So there!"

Prussia and Germany almost never went to school together these days. It sent a little pang down Hungary's heart to think about it; back when his little brother had been attending the adjoined kindergarten, Prussia had made it his life mission to walk the small boy to and from school. He wouldn't have dreamt of letting the kid's hand go for an instant, not even when Hungary, wilder and brasher back then, darted out before him and tried to provoke him into a race. But things change with time – he started joining in Hungary's races during the period his brother was admitted into a hospital, and Hungary had watched with relief as the glum look on his face receded little by little. The habit stuck after Austria joined them in their morning walks, and Germany made new friends upon his entry to the high school faction. It was all part of growing up, she supposed, and the memory of a silvery-haired boy, giving his eagerly attentive baby brother a pep-talk on battle strategies as they walked down this very road together made her feel more than a little nostalgic.

_This_, though, she thought dryly, she was sure she wouldn't miss.

She tossed her hair again, and narrowed her eyes at Prussia. "You mean you were being a nuisance to those young love-birds, and you felt left out when neither of them would give you his time. So you came crawling back to us, like the third wheel you are?"

Prussia laughed in her face. "As if! On the contrary, _I'm_ playing Cupid. Like the greatest big brother in the world, I went out of my way to set them up again! Shows what you know about being a third wheel, suckeeeer–"

"Prussia, please, language," said Austria from his place on the brick wall. Prussia stuck his tongue out at him.

"Meh. _You_ need to get used to the modern world sometime today, little prince."

Before Hungary could shoot an angry retort, Austria stood up slowly (_elegantly_, in her personal opinion) and dusted off his hands. "Well, now that we're all gathered, shall we resume? It's getting quite late already."

"Are you sure you've rested enough, princey?" Prussia teased. Austria frowned at him, but seemed to deem the comment not worth answering, and started walking. Jabbing and bickering at each other, Hungary and Prussia followed suit.

When their jabbing and bickering turned to the topic of The Gun Fight Survival Game To Decide the Ultimate Event Which Should Totally Be Theatre Because They're Awesome Kesesese, Hungary groaned. "What did I ever do to get stuck on the same team as you?"

"Well, there was that time in first grade–"

"It was rhetorical. Honestly, I would have thought that with your friends and your brother on the other team, you would have joined that side. All the more fun pelting you with paintballs, in my opinion."

Hungary didn't like the idea of working together with Prussia. At all. Even when they were younger and had hung out a lot, though not-friends, they had gotten into scraps where each would be desperate to gain the upper hand over the other. For a while, Hungary held it through swiftness and agility, and when as children the difference between their sexes had not been so apparent, she also relied on brute strength and will. But Prussia was a fast learner in spite of his looks and attitude, and he matched her power with cunning tactics that bordered on underhand. That had all been a long time ago, but Hungary was still wary of how well Prussia could predict and counter his opponent's next action.

So deep had she been involved in the humiliating memories of the past, she had almost not noticed how quiet the albino boy was beside her. Furrowing her brows, she poked him in the side. "Prussia?"

"Ow! Why'd you – I mean, y-yeah, you _would _like that," Prussia said hastily, but fell abruptly silent. Hungary raised an eyebrow. Usually, this would be where Prussia started his exuberant speech on how awesome his acting will be and that he would take the leading role, and how he'll show those tea-loving geeks his superior shooting skills, and whatnot. She watched him thoughtfully through narrowed eyes, an unbidden thought stirring in her mind...and Prussia had, aside from his wild nature, always had a wickedly clever side to him...

"Hey, Prussia," she started doubtfully, but intent on getting some answers. Before she could continue, though, Prussia suddenly darted out before her.

"Princey, we turn the corner here, remember the pink flowers we told you to use as a marker?"

Austria's voice came floating back to her, harried and irritable. "This road is so confusing. And how do you expect me to memorise every single detail – and those plants wilt in the colder season, they're of no use at all–"

Hungary sighed, pulling a worn notebook from her shirt pocket and clicked at a mechanic pencil that materialised in her hand, quickly sketching down the two boys walking before her for yaoi art purposes to colour in later. As she drew the lines of Prussia's hand resting firmly on Austria's shoulder with practiced ease, she made a mental note to herself to keep an eye on Prussia tonight; more evidence would be needed to ascertain her suspicions, but it was always better to be safer than sorry.

– X – X – X –

_Friday, 08:36_

Denmark burst into the classroom five minutes after the bell had rung, panting slightly but composed himself quickly when he saw that the teacher had not arrived yet. His classmates were still talking amongst each other, the hum of conversation rising and falling in the Friday morning. Everyone was excited about the night's match, although some showed it more than others. Looking over towards the desks next to the window, Denmark wasn't surprised to see that Norway, predictably, was among the lesser ones.

Passing Japan, who somehow seemed quieter and paler than usual, but who was still listening attentively to England urgently going over their plans, and dodging a red-faced Romano as he stormed by, Spain in tow and begging for forgiveness for something he must have done again, Denmark reached the other Nordic's desk and plopped into the open one in front of his. Predictably, the urge to reach out and snuggle up to Norway stirred in his chest, but it was marginally less noticeable than before. He managed to suppress it to a winning smile.

"Morning, Norge."

The boy's dark blue eyes looked almost purple in the morning sunlight pouring in through the windows, Denmark noted, as they were lifted from the pages of his book to Denmark's face. "...'morning, Anko."

Den's smile froze at the sight of his friend in golden light, before quickly snapping himself out of it and turning hastily back to his own desk. He was prone to doing that, this week; Den didn't know why, but he felt more and more compelled to watch Norway's every movement, unable to look away, as the days of 'giving space' dragged on. He reasoned to himself that it was probably from Norway-withdrawal, and that it would be soon remedied after tonight.

Denmark had decided – after that horrific afternoon in the courtyard, where he had only just managed to stop himself from latching on to Norway's knees and cry his heart out, but had instead fixed a shaky smile and wished him the best of luck, to the surprise of all present – that he may be fighting for the opposite team, and he may have to dodge and counter Norway's pellet-bullets, and he may actually die trying to breach Fin and Sve's combined defence, but it wasn't going to stop him from trying. He was a man, dammit, and even if he may not be fully committed to the idea of serving tea and cake in a cheap outfit, he would damn well see to it that the cause will be fulfilled if it's the last thing he'll do. There was the ambivalence to the thought of fighting Norway – which he had done before, and had found it extremely unpleasant – but this was a fair game, and if he couldn't show off in front of Norge, he was determined to at least show him how fierce he could fight if he wanted to.

Really.

Although he had still felt like sobbing into his pillow when he woke up this morning.

...Right, he was going to try and avoid a confrontation with Norway as best as he could. The thought of aiming _anything_, let alone a gun, at his best friend made him suffer physical pain, and nobody could accuse him of hesitating if he wasn't given a chance to!

"Anko?"

The soft voice interrupted Den from his thoughts, and he almost turned around to address Nor before restraining himself just in time. He had been smart, Den mused to himself, to have gotten a desk in front of Norway. If it had been anywhere else the other boy would have caught his eye too much, and it was getting to a point where he could not concentrate on the teacher speaking at the front – more so than usual. So he kept his head down, pretending to pour over his messy notebook, and responded with a non-committal, "Hmm?"

There was a slight pause from behind him. "...Are you feeling well?"

What a weird question. "I'm fine, Norge," he said, still not looking up. "How 'bout you?"

There was another brief hesitation, but when Norway spoke, there was a note of confusion. "'m alright, too, but...but Anko, lately you've been..."

Something in Nor's voice made Denmark stop. It had not been audible, not exactly, but there had been a little catch; and for some reason it made something in Den's chest twist and clamp down on itself...

He put the notebook down slowly. "Hey, Nor, you –"

At that moment, Professor Rome chose to open the classroom door with a loud _bang_, wide smile on his lips and dark eyes twinkling. "Good morning, class! Sorry I'm late! I almost stepped on a little rat today, would you believe...now, into your seats and open page fifty-nine on your textbooks!"

He smiled brightly, mostly to everyone but particularly Spain, who scuttled away from his angrily blushing boyfriend and obediently sat at his desk. Denmark blinked, and sighed; whatever Norway wanted to tell him, and whatever he had been about to say to Nor (he had no idea what, though) would have to wait. He turned back properly to his desk, as Professor Rome drew up a map of Europe and proceeded to loudly explain how he had conquered the vast region and they had been conceived…

– X – X – X -

_Friday, 09:31_

When the bell went, signalling that the first class of the day – history, which had quickly turned into an excruciatingly embarrassing account of how each and every one of Professor Rome's lineage had come into being (he didn't think Romano's face could take any more blood, as flaringly red it was) – was finally finished, England hurriedly packed up his stationery and textbooks. He gave Japan a brisk see-you-later, and swept away to his lockers to pick up an apron for next period. Home Economics was England's favourite class, and he was proud to say that his projects were improving every week. Even France, who was more often than not stuck being his partner, had noted that the smell of burnt charcoal was stinging his nostrils less recently (although that didn't make him slightly giddy and hide a silly grin at all, no, and if the frog thought that flattering him will earn himself some favours in the student council, he had another thing coming).

As quickly as he had left the classroom, however, someone else was standing by his locker when he neared it. England blinked, but when he saw it was America, with his hands in his pockets and an easy smile playing on his lips, it quickly turned into a scowl.

He deigned to ignore the other boy and strode purposefully to his locker. America stood aside for him to open it, but he lingered as England got out his stuff.

At last, the piercing blue eyes burning into the back of his neck got the better of England's nerves.

"What do you want," he said through gritted teeth.

"You to stop avoiding me," America replied without missing a beat.

England considered denying it, but dismissed the thought. He'd made it publicly known that he was at odds with America right now, and wouldn't it only serve to drive in his point more?

"Well, you started it," he retorted, grabbing his apron from the back of his locker and stuffing it under one arm. "You were clearly setting it up so that I may agree to this whole debacle. Should have thought this through a little more, hmm?"

(He realised he'd been provoked into this now, and it infuriated him for playing so easily into the other boy's trap. But an English gentleman never went back on his word, and he _will_ win this match, no matter what it took.)

America had shifted to stand closer to him, so close that England could feel his warmth. Ever since they were younger, America had radiated heat like a stove. "I didn't think that you would outright _ignore _me! Come on, dude, it's just a game."

England slammed his locker door shut with more force than it may have needed. There was a slow murmur from the direction of the classrooms; people will be flowing out any second now, but he couldn't bring himself to care just then. "That's what everything always is to you, isn't it?" he said, finally turning to face America. England was shorter, but he knew his scowl was ferocious enough to bring even the burliest bullies down, back when they were kids. "A game. It doesn't occur to you that others feel differently, and that your opinion isn't the only thing that matters. Even when you left home –"

"Whoa, whoa," America said softly, placing an arm against the lockers and towering over England – not because he meant to, England knew, but the fact only annoyed him more. "Is that what this is all about? I thought we'd figured this out ages ago. England, I'm not your brother any more, but I thought we were friends. Don't you think we've been getting along so much better since seeing each other again that first day of high school, too?"

'That first day of high school' had been the craziest day in England's life, after he had sighted the younger brother he had often heard about but never seen since their argument crossing the school grounds wearing a heavy bomber jacket and a big bloody grin. He'd tackled the boy and shouted at him, first for disobeying the school dress code, then for all those years of no word of how he was doing, and then he had promptly burst into tears. The following days were filled with games of cat-and-mouse, long rows over the slightest matters, and America heckling him for every little thing his council decided on…and nobody could see how the adversity between them could possibly be dispelled.

But at some point over the years their animosity vanished, and the arguments became part of their daily routine, and when in one council assembly America started booing over the decision to prohibit the sale of fatty candy bars in the tuck shop, England finally lost his temper, stood and kicked his chair over (Japan sitting beside him might have jumped a foot into the air, but England was sorry to say he hadn't his shy vice-president in mind then), and bellowed at America from the centre of the stage just where he could stick his opinions up when the decision was made by a school-wide vote. America had levelled his glower, before laughing and starting a loud applause in the assembly, as if to show his respect for the furious and very befuddled school president.

It was true that, since then, they had gotten along better – far better than their later years living in the same house. America now resided in the dorms outside campus, but they saw each other regularly and had come to an agreement of sorts of what happened between them. But England still sometimes remembered his happiest days; an angelic little boy, waiting eagerly for him outside their house to come back from school, and how that boy had freely proclaimed his love for England who frequently got himself into squabbles with the other kids, was largely ignored by his bigger and burliest brothers, and had very little friends. And he also remembered – that fateful night, filled with screaming and crashing – America storming out into the rain, declaring himself independent and renouncing his family...and England.

Those memories usually arose in the most opportune moments, like now, squashing the smaller part of England's mind reasoning that it may be easier to just agree with and apologise to America for his behaviour.

So he fixed his glare at America, and hissed, "I think you're quite mistaken. I've never thought you of a friend, myself."

America blinked, and for an instant his smile vanished, giving England's stomach a sick lurch. He quickly shook the feeling away and, pale and shaking so very slightly, moved to hurry away to his next class, eyes on the tiled floor and books clutched to his chest.

But the boy blocked his way yet again, and a low chuckle reached England's ears. "England, you know you can't get rid of me that easily."

His breath tickled the shell of England's ear, impossibly hot even on his burning skin. He couldn't stop himself from whipping his head up and caught sight of America's blue eyes, soft and transfixing, his young face suddenly looking more mature than England had ever seen.

He quickly ripped his gaze away and pushed roughly past America, walking in long strides and intent on cursing the other boy out in several different dialects. He moved fast, head down, so that no one may see the ugly red he was sure was painted across his cheek, now.

So he didn't notice America staring at his retreating back.

Nor the small black head vanishing from sight around the corner, fleeing back to the classrooms behind them both.

– X – X – X –

_Friday, 12:40_

Lunchtime found Denmark returning to their homeroom from the tuck shop, with no sight of Norway. Humming his discontent, he was about to head for their next usual spot – the staircase in the East Wing – when he ran into Finland and Sweden, Fin looking rather anxious about something.

"Hey, guys," he greeted them. "Have you seen Nor?"

Sweden nodded, and Finland said, "Outside, on the lawn. But wait, Ta-san –"

"Okay, cool!" Denmark cried, and was about to make his way down to the grounds when Sweden's arm shot out to grab him at the back of his collar. "What the – Sve –"

"Ta-san," Finland said, his eyes flickering worriedly to and fro, "I'm afraid...Ice may not be too happy with you."

Den's brows furrowed. "Ice? That little tyke? What did I do to him?"

"Well–" Fin exchanged glances with Sweden, "Let's just say our plan is facing a little setback. And bad timing."

This was going nowhere. Denmark wriggled out of Sweden's grip, brushing himself off impatiently. "Whatever. I'll go find him myself, after I talk to Nor. He was acting kind of weird today, come to think of it." He headed towards the staircase leading down to the courtyard, skipping a step at a time and whistling tunelessly.

"Just be careful!" Finland called after him, but he took little notice.

Outside, he scanned the perfectly manicured lawn for any sign of Norway. It was a sunny day, without a cloud in sight, and there was a hint of the approaching summer as a warm breeze wafted across the courtyard. Only a small number of people loitered around, stretching out on the grass and the sunlight, but Denmark spotted Norway sitting under the shadow of a small fig tree, his mouth moving silently to something Den couldn't see. It didn't bother him; Norway had always had a knack for seeing things that Den couldn't, but he'd never doubted his friend when he insisted they were real. He broke into a trot and made a beeline for the bench, swinging his sandwiches in one hand.

"Hey," he said, breathily, as he reached the spot where Norway was sitting. The other boy had already seen him heading his way across the courtyard, and was snapping his hair pin (Den had only recently learnt it served as a communicator, and the idea had excited him to bits) back on. Norway simply nodded, avoiding eye contact, and Den hesitated at the odd behaviour but took it as a sign to take up the place next to him.

He sat heavily and opened his sandwiches. The urge to throw an arm around Nor and pull him close whispered temptingly in his ear, but he waved it aside when the thought made his face feel slightly warm. Anyway, he had found that some distance between them was useful in letting him appreciate Norway more; had he always been so white? And Den had commented once or twice that he had grown so much since they were kids, but he could have sworn Nor's shoulders had not filled themselves out as much last week. And most of his height was comprised of his long legs, crossed easily now, looking sturdy but soft underneath the uniform.

Den swore he wasn't doing it consciously, but he had never been so good at multi-tasking, and with all his concentration taken up with watching Norway from the corner of his eye and absent-mindedly picking at his lunch he wasn't focused so much on conversation. As it were, they had sat in silence for a whole two minutes now, and Norway was staring at something in the grass leaving his food untouched on his lap. A bird chortled from somewhere above them, and the faint noises of other students enjoying the break resounded against the surrounding school walls.

When Den finally noticed Nor wasn't eating, and wondered if he wasn't hungry, and was about to offer a bite from his own food to see if his appetite will return, Norway broke the silence.

"What's going on?"

"Hmm?" Denmark was focused on looking his egg-and-mayonnaise sandwich over, trying to find the chewiest part Nor might like most.

Nor turned his dark eyes on him, and Den was taken aback by the sharp look in them, aimed directly at him. "You've been acting strange all week," he said accusingly. "And I thought you might be sick, but you said you were fine... And you only act that way around me."

"Oh." Denmark briefly considered telling Nor that no, he wasn't sick, he was just testing out whether he could be around his best friend in ways that didn't involve being tossed around by mythological gods. But somehow, that seemed different to what he really wanted to say; wrong in a way Denmark couldn't pinpoint. Besides, he didn't want to sound like he was experimenting on his friend – and a voice that sounded oddly like Finland told him that all those times he clamped his arms to his side and bit on his tongue to restrain himself would be for nothing if Norway found out.

So he just shrugged, and said, "Nothing's going on." He hoped it was enough to deter the boy.

But Norway pursed his lips. "So it's something you can't tell me?"

"What?" _Crap, he's onto me_. "It's not like that! I've – I just decided it was time for a change. What, is there a rule or something that I have to act all loud around you?" he added jokingly.

Nor's knuckles whitened on his packed lunch. "So you _were _doing it on purpose."

_Shitshitshit_. "What the hell, man?" Denmark demanded, trying to veer the conversation away from this topic. "You can't just test me like that! Look, if there's something you wanted from me, you can just _ask!_" He didn't realise the hypocrisy of it until after it had fallen from his lips.

Nor's eyes narrowed. "I did, but you didn't give me a straight answer."

Well, yeah, but...but he couldn't back down here. Denmark started loudly, "I did too give you a straight answer, and _nothing's_ up, and it's not my problem if you don't believe me –"

Quick footsteps sounded from their left – and suddenly, Iceland was there, cheeks pink from jogging and breathing slightly harsh. "I _knew_ it," he spat, and then to Nor, "I told you, you shouldn't talk to him! I told you he's just going to act like the asshole he is!"

Denmark whipped around, cursing under his breath. "Ice! You – just stay out of this, you little dick–"

Norway said frostily, "Never call him that."

The expression on Den's face froze almost comically, and he turned back to Norway stammering, "Nor – I didn't mean..." –but he was already standing up from the bench they had shared, patted his trouser legs and stalked over to his little brother. Ice was looking so furious that he hadn't even bothered to pretend to be mortified when Nor lay a hand on his shoulder. "If you're going to be a jerk, do it to someone who deserves it," Ice snapped. Denmark scowled at him, and stood as well.

"Look, I don't know what you two are thinking, but isn't this a little unfair? I don't even know what I did wrong if you don't tell me!"

Iceland opened his mouth to say something, but Norway stopped him. He crossed his arms and looked down at his nose at Denmark, challenging. "Then _you_ tell us first why you've been acting the way you were."

It was a fleeting thought to Denmark's mind; to just tell them what it was all about, that he wasn't _up_ to anything at all. But his pride got in the way this time – why should he have to defend himself from them? He hadn't done anything; it was well within his rights to act however he wanted to! He huffed, and pulled himself up to full height, and declared, "I don't think I have to tell you anything, at least not until _you_ –"

Norway had always been quick; Denmark gave him that. But he was caught unawares, and unprepared, when the hand came up to hit him just below the cheek. It had enough force to make Denmark stumble back, surprised into silence; he toppled back onto the bench, blinking at what had just happened. Norway stood over him, eyes flashing...then, he stepped away, still fuming but restrained, and without a backward glance he turned on his heel and marched away to the building, Iceland following close behind.

Denmark was left bewildered, and in an almost shell-shocked state he stared at the spot Norway had been standing only a moment ago. Slowly, he raised his fingers to touch the place where Norway had slapped him; it stung in a way only reality could make it. The shock of the sudden twist of events, two friends turning on him, and seeing Nor angrier than he had ever seen him was taking it's time to set in. Denmark could only sit there with his half-eaten sandwiches left forgotten on the ground for a long while.

– X – X – X –

_Friday, 13:06_

Spain whistled from his vantage spot on the roof. "That was some punch."

France glanced over his friend rolling around on his stomach, basking in the noon sun, and smiled a little. "Strictly speaking, that was a slap. And a pretty strong one – I could hear the crack all the way from here."

Spain snorted in laughter. "Yeah, _you_ would know."

The other boy sighed, shaking his head, the blonde strands that had escaped his fashionably-messily tied ponytail catching the light as he did. "I wonder what it was all about, though?" he asked aloud, stretching out his crossed legs and leaning back against the wire-net placed around the roof to prevent depressed or incredibly stupid students from accidentally toppling over the edge. "Those two haven't had a real fight in years. I didn't know dear _Danemark_ was even capable of instigating one."

Spain rolled onto his back, sucking at the straw attached to his milk carton. He wondered, too, but he didn't know Denmark that well; once, they'd squabbled over who got to play the wood-cutter in Little Red Riding Hood (they had both wanted to wield the cardboard axe) but that was back in their third year of primary school, and so he didn't know much else about him except for his affinity for large weapons. Which Spain could rather relate to! But nowadays, he would rather swap axes for a handy shovel, because the small patch in the school greenhouse he was growing tomatoes in needed another change of soil. If _only_ that damn school president would let him set up the Tomato Fan Club! Eyebrows was so wrong about how there wasn't enough people interested to open a club – Romano was interested, he loved tomatoes! He just acted like he didn't because he was at that stage in growing up where he felt the need to disagree with whatever Spain suggested. Romano was the only reason Spain was on the same team as Eyebrows, that and Spain hoped to persuade Romano into a maid dress like he had him where when they had both been younger, before his grandfather found out about their make-believe games. He was sure Romano had gotten less clumsier since then, and could pour delicious tea, which would go so well with the cookies Veneziano had promised to bake...ooh, birdie...

He blinked, reminded of another certain bird and its companion. "Hey, where did Prussia go?"

France was too used to the way Spain's thoughts went about their own way, and didn't pursue the matter of the outburst in the courtyard below any further. "He didn't say. He disappeared right after class, and I haven't seen him since." He paused, pondering. "Mind you, I haven't seen much of him at all this week. I thought it was because the theatre team were busy with whatever they're up to, but Norway was just there, and he's in theatre, isn't he?"

(France had joined the cafe team for more or less the same reason as Spain, although the subject he was interested in seeing in a frilly skirt and apron wasn't limited to Romano, or girls for the matter, but anything that breathed.)

"Huh," said Spain. "That's weird. Hey, do you think Romano would ever forgive me for this morning?"

If it were anyone else, France would have felt exasperated at having the subject changed abruptly twice in such a short period of time. But this was Spain, and he was looking so sad with those big, puppy-dog eyes from under a fringe of curly dark hair. "He always does, _mon cher_," he replied soothingly. "Or he pretends to forget that he was ever angry in the first place, once he needs you to hold his hand going home after dark."

Spain sighed dramatically. "But it's different this time! I can tell! What if nothing I do makes him change his mind?"

France thought that highly unlikely. He remembered setting Spain and Romano up back when they had all been in the middle school faction, and hiding in the shadows with Prussia to watch the events unfold. To tell the truth, it hadn't been so difficult – there was enough unresolved sexual tension between the two to make a monk pull his hair out in frustration. "You'll think of something. In fact," a light-bulb lit out in his head, "why not make it better? You can show him you can be cool and strong, and not just cuddly and air-headed and positive to the point of stupidity! ...Oh, no offence."

Taking no heed of the last comment, Spain blinked at him. "But how do I do that?"

"Easy. Tonight, it'll be like a war zone – paint balls flying around, barricades drawn, seemingly endless missions of survival and stealth. The air itself will be crackling with tension! Do you think Romano would be able stand that?"

"Romano can't watch movies about stuff like that without covering his eyes," Spain said bluntly.

"Right. And at the peak of the moment, when it seems imminent danger is looming over Romano, and he has no way out, you swoop in to save the day!"

Spain gasped. "That sounds _perfect_! There's no way he won't fall in love with me again if I rescue him like that!" He hesitated. "But I don't want Romano to really be in danger..."

"Well, that's where I come in. We're on the same side, I'm sure we can figure something out." France stopped to think. "Of course," he said slyly, reaching out to run fingers down Spain's chest, and slowly unbuttoning his top shirt buttons, "If it doesn't all work out well, do remember that I will always be here to console you..."

Spain smiled up at France, taking no notice of the roaming hands. "Thanks, France, but I don't think I want anyone other than Romano."

"Oh, you're just saying that..." Long fingers slipped under Spain's school vest.

The door leading to the stairs slammed open. "Yo, France, Spain!" Prussia yelled. "I see you've been desperate for my presence to grace your–" He stopped and stared. "What the fuck, France!? You can't do that to a taken guy! Where're your morals, for fuck's sake!"

France sighed in defeat, and sulkily withdrew his hand from Spain's shirt. "Hello, Prussia. As always, you have impeccable timing."

"Pu-chan!" Spain scrabbled to sit up properly, face brightening. "Where've you been?"

Prussia rolled back his shoulders and puffed out his chest. "I thought you'd ask! But I can't tell. Top secret, hush-hush business, you see."

"Oh?" France drawled, placing his chin on his hand. "Is it something related to tonight?"

Prussia burst into raucous laughter. "Even if it was, I wouldn't tell you! ...Well," he said, as an afterthought, "At least, not now. You should be grateful if I do decide to include you in my plans, you know. It's brilliant – everyone's gonna be so jealous when they ask themselves why they didn't think of it as well!"

The other two exchanged uneasy looks between each other. Prussia's "plans" had a habit of running loose – sometimes, they were logical and smart, but a few of them had proven to be too risky to either of them. This sounded like one of the latter.

"I don't think I want to be a part of your plan, this time," Spain said uncomfortably.

"And aren't we on different teams? Provided this _is_ for tonight, that is," France added.

Their friend grinned slyly at them. "All in due time. Just wait; you'll be begging to be let in once everything begins." He sniffed, and wrinkled his nose. "Why do you smell like charcoal?"

France glowered down at his lunch, as Spain provided helpfully for him. "He had Home Econ with England."

Prussia looked at him pityingly. "Oh. Uh – hey, are those maple-flavoured crackers? Give us!"

"Have at them," France said gloomily, wondering if no amount of rose-scented perfume would cover the scent and trauma before the next class.

– X – X – X –

_Friday, 15:28_

"I need to speak to you."

Austria looked up from his desk, the remnants of the bell for fourth period ringing away in the corridors. "What about?"

Hungary took his books from him, impatiently waving away his protests and carrying them along with hers. "Prussia. He – I don't trust him, Austria."

Prussia was outside on the grounds for physical education at the moment, so there was no fear of him overhearing the conversation. Hungary was glad for the privacy, but at the same time something in her groaned at the missed opportunity to see him and Austria doing stretches together and engaging in strenuous exercises that made them sweat and heave heavy breaths. Fantasising about her two best friends was her favourite pastime when she was bored (and it also proved productive, since she could exchange the doujinshis she had drawn up with Taiwan and Japan on their monthly meetings), so it was just her luck that their timetables hadn't matched this time around.

Oh well. There was always next term.

She carried on with their conversation, giving no hint of what she had been thinking. "He was acting strange this morning, and the more I watch him, the more it's becoming obvious. Did you know he tried to bribe China into passing him two more guns? Or that he'd been wandering around the school grounds alone during break, without any consultation with America – or any of us?"

Austria trailed after her as they made their way out of the classroom. "I'm sure that's just him being his usual excitable self. Or none of his friends had indulged him at lunch. Don't worry yourself over it so, dear."

"Regardless," Hungary argued, "We need to be on our toes. I _know _how he works, Austria, I haven't spent all those years around him without picking up hints. And I have a bad feeling about tonight, too; is it really going to be a fair game, when there are people they're friends with on the other team?"

They reached their lockers. Hungary had traded Estonia for his with a new Dating Sim game from Japan so that she could be situated next to Austria, and Prussia's was only some way down the same corridor. "He's up to something – I don't know what, but he is." As Austria clicked in his combination code and swung open the door, she grabbed his wrist in sudden desperation. "Won't you believe me, at least?"

He sighed. "Alright. I suppose it won't hurt to be a little more cautious. But Hungary, you know we cannot do anything rash without proper proof. All we can do is to watch him closely for the rest of today and during tonight; then if he shows any suspicious behaviour, we can be in a position to stop–"

He broke off suddenly, and Hungary turned to see what he was looking at. Some distance behind them, Prussia had sprinted up the staircase still in his gym clothes, and had raced over to his own locker in record time. He was holding something to his chest, but Hungary couldn't see what it was until the throng of students going to class parted momentarily. Looking around quickly, as if to hide from prying eyes, Prussia swiftly stuffed the object – a small parcel wrapped in brown paper – into the back of his locker before slamming it shut. He then hurriedly disappeared into the crowd of people and around the corner.

Hungary turned back to Austria, her face pinched. "Suspicious behaviour?"

The musician pinched the bridge of his nose with delicate fingers. "Oh, _Prussia_," he sighed.

– X – X – X –

_Friday, 15:33_

"Japan! Hey, wait up!"

The small Asian nation turned, curious, as America jogged down the corridor towards him. Italy patted him on the shoulder.

"We'll see you at the classroom, ve!"

"Don't be late," Germany added half-heartedly, knowing Japan would be anything but.

Japan smiled at them both, and turned back to find America had caught up, and breathing slightly heavily. "America-kun? What happened?"

The blonde boy straightened, wide grin on his face. "Oh, nothing's happened. I just wanted to talk to you about... Hey, do you mind if we go in there? It'll only take a minute, I swear!"

He motioned to a classroom door down the corridor. Japan raised his eyebrows questioningly, but nodded silently and followed the energetic boy.

The room was empty, and Japan suspected America had known this. The taller boy had already made himself comfortable, half-seated, half-leaning against a desk in the relaxed way Japan could never manage. Instead, he stood awkwardly before him, closer to the door and shifting his weight from one foot to another.

"What did you want to talk to me about, America-kun?"

America hummed a little before speaking. "England."

There was a short silence, during which Japan felt his heart stop and closed his eyes. He had expected this. It was the first thing that had sprung to mind when America called for him in the hallway – how could it not be, when it was Japan who had witnessed the two boys talking in front of the lockers? The image of America leaning over England would be something Japan could not wipe from his memory anytime soon.

It was still somewhat of a surprise to be addressed so directly about him, but the shock was already numbing, probably due to the events in the morning which he didn't care to think about right now. "...What about him?"

He could feel America's blue eyes regarding him shrewdly from behind Texas. "You guys are pretty close, right?"

Japan looked at him blankly. America chuckled nervously, seemingly at himself.

"Okay, sorry, that was a stupid question. Look, you and him...has he ever...umm..."

For a moment, America looked uncomfortable. Japan was dumbfounded. Here was the self-proclaimed hero of the class, who was always so vibrant and confident in front of crowds anybody would stumble over his words at the sight of, and he was faltering in front of _Japan_, of all people? Living as long as he had certainly had its merits, Japan thought, if he was to be privy to curious situations as this.

But the bad feeling was still there, resting at the out of his stomach like a rock sunk into a river; Japan wondered if there was still a chance he could avoid this conversation, and ran back to his next class where it would be safe, where Italy and Germany would be waiting.

"America-kun," he tried, gently. "If it's something you'd rather not say, we could always talk later –"

"No!" America's blue eyes stared wildly at him, panic evident and clear as the afternoon sky. "I mean, no. To tell the truth," and he passed a hand warily over his face, a short bark of laughter escaping his throat, "I don't think I'll have the courage to ask you about this again if I don't now."

Japan waited patiently, though he was cursing himself inwardly at his own hastiness. The look on America's face was determined, now, and Japan knew first-hand that the boy was as stubborn as a bull when he wore that expression.

So he waited, nerves on the edge, half-expecting what was to come as America struggled to find the words to whatever he wanted to say.

"Japan, look," he finally sighed, running his fingers through fine golden hair, "you know – that you're my best pal, right? That I know I can count on you?"

Japan nodded. "It's extremely humbling for me to hear you say that," he murmured. America didn't seem to hear, caught in his sudden anxiety.

"Yeah. So, like, whatever happens, we're good, right? Even tonight?"

The conversation was veering in a slightly unexpected way, now. "Yes. Certainly. America, is something the matter?"

America laughed, again, only lower and sadder this time. He gave him a little smile. "Everything's the matter, Japan. And I'm staking it all on tonight."

He righted himself on the surface of the desk, clasped his hands loosely together on his knees, and looked directly into Japan's dark eyes. "You like England, right?"

"Of course," his words slipped from him, easy as an eel. "He was one of my first friends here, and as vice-president–"

"You know I don't mean it like that." His voice was soft in the empty classroom.

Japan swallowed slowly. It was no use hiding it, and frankly, he didn't have the strength to any more. Too many things were spinning in his head, and he just felt _tired_.

Besides, by the sound of it, America had already figured it all out. "...Was I so obvious?" It was a question that had been haunting him the whole day, ever since Greece had informed him that he knew. _Who else did_?

But America shrugged. "Not to people who don't know you," he admitted. "I mean, it took me a while." A rueful smile flitted across his lips. "Or maybe it's because I'm the same."

He waited for America to continue with a bated breath and a sinking feeling. He'd suspected, and Japan would be lying if he said he had not noticed at how the blonde, tall boy looked at England sometimes...but never before had he had confirmation. With the truth more or less shoved in his face, he didn't know what he would do.

...No, he did. He wouldn't do anything. He would stand quietly at the side-lines and watch as the events played forth in front of his eyes. Just like it always had been.

So he waited, as America seemed to hesitate, and the sound of students travelling from one class to the next started to fade away in the hallways outside. Finally, America let out a deep breath, and stared at him defiantly in the eye. Japan resisted the natural instinct to look away, and held it with his own gaze.

"I like England. I always have."

America's words seemed to echo around the room, against the blank blackboard, and the windows overlooking the afternoon grounds. Japan had prepared himself for this, but he didn't feel the hopelessness, nor the jealousy he had expected; he didn't think he felt anything, really. There was no world crashing around his ears, no sharp pain running through his body as his dreams to be England's special person died a quiet death. Perhaps he didn't care anymore.

All the better to give up, then.

"So," America continued, "I challenge you for his hand!"

Japan blinked.

"...Excuse me?"

– X – X – X –

_Friday, 15:36_

As he prepared for his final class of the day, design technology, England sneezed. Pieces of textile he was supposed to be making a quilt out of fluttered from his desk and onto the floor.

"Like, bless _you_," said Poland, rolling out what looked like a half-completed prom dress, stitched together with various shades of pink and glitter.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Japan, Taiwan, and Hungary are otakus.** They mostly specialise in drawing yaoi doujinshis for their circle, which makes them fujoshis/fudanshi. If half of that sentence didn't make sense to you, I quietly suggest you turn back before it's too late.

**This is crack. It is!** Except I remembered that I'm utterly incapable of writing humour, even humour that doesn't make sense. I'll give it my best shot.

**Grandpa Rome is overly protective of his grandsons** especially from naughty predators. It's just something I enjoy reading/writing a lot! Although in RL it would have affected his teaching position somehow... Whatever. He's the head of the school, and he can damn well do what he wants.


End file.
